


Holmes...God of sex...maybe

by SirRobin126



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirRobin126/pseuds/SirRobin126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from kink-meme:</p>
<p>Sherlock and/or Mycroft think they are the God of Sex. Their enormous ego dictates that no one can best a Holmes, especially not when it comes to the delicate art of lovemaking.</p>
<p>In reality, they are just really bad at it.<br/>And every so often John and Lestrade meet up in a pub to grouse and grumble about having ended up with the worst lay in history.</p>
<p>Alternatively, just describe a really bad sex scene between John/Sherlock or Lestrade/Mycroft. Where the Holmes denies it being his fault and insists that he is fantastic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...Basically Mycroft and Lestrade have really bad sex and Lestrade complains to John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes...God of sex...maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by the wonderful livingrosencrantz (tumblr name) without whom my works would be filled with grammatical nightmares.

Mycroft looked into Greg’s eyes. Maintaining eye contact, he’d read, was important during intercourse.

His filing system of a mind was systematically checking and cross-checking the requirements to be met. It had stored the relevant information and was now in the process of creating an order of operations. He had instructed Greg to lie on the bed and, as he allowed this system time to function, proceeded with the next item; the removal of clothing.

Mycroft continued to look intently at Greg (who appeared rather restless) as he slowly and surely unbuttoned the other man’s shirt. He spread the sides of the shirt off of Greg’s now bare chest and slid the sleeves up his arms. He turned his attention to the belt, dispatching it with swift, certain movements and unbuttoning the fly to reveal the striped blue boxers underneath. Soon Mycroft had done away with the trousers entirely, leaving on the bed a Greg stripped bare but for his pants.

This was the last item; the plan was laid out in his head ‘clothing off (both parties), light kissing (on mouth then moving down body), oral stimulation, self-stimulation, lubrication, anal penetration, climax (both parties), quiet embrace ‘.

Mycroft did away surprisingly quickly with his entire three piece suit, shooting Greg an admonishing look when he attempted to take off his own underwear, apparently unsatisfied with Mycroft’s rapidity in removing clothing. Soon he was down to his own briefs, which he removed before moving onto the bed to unclothe and straddle Greg, after the latter had moved over slightly (under instruction) to allow a more centred position.

Finding his partner’s eyes once more he maintained eye contact as he proceeded with the kissing. Pressing his lips gently to Greg’s he felt the constantly unexpected softness of the touch, so at odds with Greg’s rough outward appearance. His bottom lip glided over the stubble as he re-adjusted in an effort to experience as much of the kiss as possible. For a moment the agenda was forgotten as his mouth opened and Greg’s tongue enthusiastically explored the interior. Presently however, Mycroft remembered himself and drew away, a lasting sensation still on his lips he began his slow descent.

*

Greg was working so hard to stifle the laughter. It was taking everything he had to not collapse. He was relieved that he had been made to lie on the bed, because if he had been standing during this exchange he firmly believed that right now his stripped form would be splayed on a rather more uncomfortable surface. The kiss was nice, he’d admit, but the rest was…well…very, very funny. Mycroft seemed to be trying to actually bore a hole through his head. He’d stopped staring only to undress himself and during the kiss but now had adamantly fixed his gaze to Greg’s eyes. It was a little unnerving actually, having (to be honest) quite a powerful (and surely sometimes frightening) man staring this intently at you as his lips caressed your naked body. Well, caress is a loose term for what was happening. He could feel Mycroft’s lips press against his chest, the measured breathing from Mycroft’s nose tickled the small, light hairs there (not helping the resistance to laughter). Each ‘kiss’ lasted about 3 seconds and Greg could feel a trail of strangely uniform imprints down his body.

Eventually Mycroft has descended far enough for even his clinical contact to have a desirable effect. The small of Greg’s back left the bed and his eyes closed in anticipation of what was to come…

…

…which...was…more kissing apparently. Okay, clearly Mycroft hadn't filled his quota yet, Greg was a bit disorientated but stayed lying flat, patiently waiting.

Abruptly Mycroft stopped kissing and took the end of Greg’s cock between his lips. Greg had not been expecting that and involuntarily bucked, startling Mycroft and causing him to lose the tentative hold he had. Sheepishly Greg lay back as Mycroft returned to his previous occupation, once again staring intently at him.

The action that ensued was to Greg so absurd, that he was shaking with laughter and had to look away. Mycroft‘s eyes were so serious and intense but his movement so light and stilted. His open mouth moved up and down the shaft, the edges barely touching and only then because of Greg’s shaking.

Irritated, Mycroft’s brow furrowed and he tightened his grip causing a sharp, pleasant gasp to emanate from Greg. Mycroft continued his unvarying motion whilst seeking visual contact with his partner, who seemed determined not to meet his gaze. Impatient he reached his hand under Greg and ran his fingers over the very small of his back causing Greg to squeal and look down. Immediately a short bark of laughter escaped him, which was not to Mycroft’s pleasure. Greg had been strange and unhelpful all throughout and this was the final straw.

Releasing Greg, Mycroft stood up and wiped his mouth, shooting an angry look back in his direction. The sight of such a proper, angry, irritated…yet naked Mycroft was just too much for Greg, after all…that, he couldn’t hold in his laughter and was attempting to speak to Mycroft through the short respite between spurts.

“Mye I’m sorry I-“

“If you are not prepared to take this seriously, Gregory, I shall have to take my leave.”

“I didn’t mean anything I just couldn’t…you have to admit that wa-“

“Was what?”

“Well, um, not particularly..”

“Gregory, I have had a collection of sexual partners, none of whom have complained about my brand of sexual endeavours.”

“Well maybe…Mye …there’s the slightest chance that they were a little bit…intimidated?”

Mycroft looked askance, in all the time Greg had known him Mycroft had never seemed so insulted. This was clearly one sharp blow to an ego that did not bruise easily. He deftly pulled on his clothing, somehow making his suit seem even crisper than before.

“Gregory, I shall call again when you have returned to you senses.” He smiled stiffly (and unsettlingly), took up his umbrella from the doorway and left.

“Mye!” The laughter was gone now and Greg suddenly felt very tired and annoyed with himself, and Mycroft and the fact that he was now very uncomfortable between the legs and was in no mood to do anything about it.

****

“He’s just….awful….like not-..he’s just..well…ruddy awful.”

Greg brandished his pint at John, who was looking on with very understanding eyes.

“I know what you mean, really though…I do!” There were several empty pint glasses on the table by now and the sun was dipping below the horizon. “Sherlock either doesn’t shut up about the bloody chemical processes or just stops…and goes into one of his reveries which usually I don’t mind but you know…”

Greg was quite fond of these pub chats with John, the only time you could get a full conversation with him was after a few pints of bitter anyway. At this point however he was a little far gone to just enjoy the moment.

“Mycroft…the thing about Mycroft…this is it right….he can’t stand not being in control, so even when he clearly, clearly isn’t quite…qualified he still can’t..not…be in control, he likes to think he’s in control even when he’s got no idea what he’s doing!”

John nodded in serious contemplation of this fact. He was quite experienced with Mycroft’s weird control over basically everything in Britain, probably the world and certainly the public telephone system.

“You need to tell him that…tell him that he’s rubbish in bed.”

“Mycroft?! You tell him, go on you tell him that.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well, yes…he just looked so…hurt when I tried to mention that he wasn’t…”

“Mycroft. Hurt?” John looked confused, the idea of anything really affecting Mycroft was clearly a strange concept to him.

“Yes! I just don’t want to hurt his feelings really. Anyway you were saying about Sherlock?”

“Maybe you need to take a bit of control with Mycroft and yes Sherlock, aghh…he irritates me a bit.”

“I can tell” John’s fist was clenching and unclenching with a practised release of stress.

“It’s just that Sherlock can’t switch his brain off bloody science he keeps explaining the chemical reactions going on, during! And then sometimes he just doesn’t do anything, like he just completely forgets what’s going on and lets his mind work on something else, it’s a bit infuriating, but get this, he still insists that he’s good. He goes on about meeting all the needs required for successful intercourse and yes but…..”

They both sat back and took a drink, stuck in their own sad contemplation of lousy lovers.

“Maybe you need to find a way of making sure Sherlock doesn’t go on about chemical processes…or anything really.”

“What are you-“

“Well...if he’s interested, there are many uses for a workaday necktie you know.”

John’s eyes lit up in sudden contemplation of this new avenue.

“I could ask him, I’m sure he’d see it as…an experiment.”

They grinned at each other over their glasses and Greg took a long swig out of his, suddenly reminded of his own current problem.

“Greg…maybe you should be a bit more assertive with Mycroft, at least in this aspect perhaps.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe Mycroft needs someone to take control…it’d be new for him certainly, maybe he’d welcome a bit of a change.”

Greg thought about it, he’d been quite willing to let Mycroft take control because the man was basically running the country and in every aspect seemed to be on top of things. But with these new developments maybe it was time to bring some of his detective inspector skills into it. The handcuffs would certainly come in handy.

 

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea at all Dr Watson, now we should leave before we look too sad and drunk.”

“Yes. Right. So, I’m going to go home and suggest gently that Sherlock should maybe pay a bit more attention, and you Detective Inspector?”

“I’m going to wait until the schedule is clear and I get picked up in a scary black town car and taken to a mystery location and then…I'm going to take someone’s control dependency away.”

“Good Plan.”

They shook hands and together strode (slightly lopsidedly) out of the pub doors and into rapidly vanishing sunlight.


End file.
